On Weds., I took my mom in for a cat scan. For those who have never experienced such a scan or do not have a clear idea how it works, the person being scanned reclines on a table and is passed through a sort of tunnel that scans the parts of the body being targeted. It is rather like a car in an automatic carwash.
The scan was just a precaution because about 6 months ago, when my mom last saw her oncologist, she had stomach pains for no discernable reason. Since she at one time had a tumor in her abdomen, though blood work suggests it is no longer there, the doctor wanted to scan her, even though since that last appointment she has gained weight and does not have stomach pain anymore.
Orginally, I was supposed to take her to the doctor at about 6:30 AM for an 8 AM appt., but the doctor's office changed it to 1:45. Thank goodness for that! I got in a little more sleep and even a yoga class! But as usual, it took over an hour to get to Hoag and then we had to wait our turn for the scan.
I was a bit nervous about how mom would respond to the process. It isn't easy; she had to put her arm over her head (not easy for a 92 year old person) and keep the other arm at an awkward angle too, with an IV in it. But she was a great patient, as usual. Even though she forgets each time why she goes to this doctor, she takes it all rather well.
Meanwhile, my dad went to UCI to the urologist, where he had a procedure in which a camera was pushed up his urethra. He had no visible problems that might be blocking his urine, so the doc just put the catheter back and sent him home. He has a skin infection on his ankle which isn't getting better because he keeps scratching it. Plus, the others at the house keep taking his Neosporin so he has none left. I keep buying it; it disappears in a day. He has an appt with a dermatologist for Monday afternoon.
9 comments:
It just goes on and on, doesn't it? How fortunate they are, indeed, to have you.
Yes, that's true. I don't think we'll be so fortunate, and neither will most other people in the world, I guess.
My dad is getting so tired. Today he could barely manage to eat a few mouthfulls of frozen yogurt at Yogurtland. I never thought I'd see him like that.
But every time he seems to give out and inch nearer the end, he rallies. He's a tough bird. Just the catheter would do in most.
That's true, but eventually, he will give out.
Boy, all of this sounds absolutely overwhelming! Your parents are very lucky to have you looking out for them, especially because the health issues appear to be all-consuming, time wise, and never ending.
It is overwhelming, but I try to take it a day at a time because I have no other choice. However, lately, I am stretched rather thin, or at least I'm feeling that way.
So sad, these slow unwindings that we must witness. Devouring of them and us. You're doing a swell job.
And when it's our turn, we'll manage--we'll have positioned ourselves better, one hopes. My advice is to make sure they have a clear statement of what they don't want...
P. S. Why don't you just put a big label over the NeoSporin label that has your dad's name in caps and "for his ankle infection" or something like that? I have found that labels that are stuck on with plenty of tape are helpful.
The other thing that we did for my father that I thought was humanizing for his bouts in the hospital was to have a bulletin board with pictures of him in earlier life--the professor, the graduate, the handsome boy tailgunner. It made people grasp what he had been and who he was in a much clearer way and resulted in more compassion and care, particularly since he was so helpless and unable to communicate well even though he still had clear understanding.
His caregiver was using it. She claimed she used just a little dab, though my dad said that two tubes were used up. She said he throws them out when there's still plenty in them. Who knows?
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